Seth shook John’s hand while Hunter finally released me. The apartment smelled like cinnamon and something savory, and through the open-plan living space I could see Nixon at the stove, apron-clad, wielding a wooden spoon like a weapon.
“Finally!” Nixon called out from the kitchen. “Get in here and taste this. I need an unbiased opinion, and these two have no palates.”
“I have an excellent palate,” Hunter protested.
“You think Taco Bell is gourmet.”
“It is if you order right.”
I crossed to the kitchen island while Seth hung back with Hunter and John, the three of them falling into easy conversation. Nixon thrust a spoon toward my face.
“Taste. Is it too much Old Bay?”
I tasted. The dip was rich and briny, perfectly balanced. “It’s perfect.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re polite.”
“I’m saying it because it’s true.”
Nixon studied me for a long moment, his dark eyes cataloging the changes since he’d last seen me—the weight I’d put back on, the way I stood a little straighter. Then he set down his spoon and came around the island, pulling me into a hug that was gentler than Hunter’s but no less fierce.
“It’s good to see you,” he said quietly. “Lincoln’s been talking about nothing else for weeks.”
“Where is he?”
“Picking up Angie and Frank from the airport. They should be here in about an hour.”
The mention of my mother made my chest tighten with anticipation. She'd been supportive when I told her about Seth at Thanksgiving—more than supportive, actually—but this was different. This was her meeting him, seeing us together, making it real in a way that phone calls couldn't.
"You okay?" Nixon asked.
"Yeah." I stepped back, rubbing the back of my neck. "It's just a lot. Everyone in one place."
“That’s the point.” He squeezed my shoulder before returning to his cooking. “Family means showing up. Even when it’s overwhelming.”
Lincoln arrived with Mom and Frank about an hour later. I heard them in the hallway—Lincoln’s deep voice, Mom’s lighter one, Frank’s quiet murmur underneath—and my body went taut with anticipation. Seth must have noticed because he slipped his hand into mine and squeezed.
The door opened. Mom stepped through first, her hair shorter than the last time I’d seen her, her face fuller and brighter. She looked healthy. She looked happy.
“Tanner.” She crossed to me in three quick strides and pulled me into her arms, holding tight, and for a moment I was five years old again—safe in the one place that had always meant home.
“Hi, Mom.”
“I missed you.” Her voice was thick. “I missed you so much, baby.”
“I missed you too.”
She pulled back, cupping my face in her hands, her eyes searching mine. Whatever she found must have satisfied her because she smiled—that real smile, the one I hadn’t seen enough of in years—and kissed my forehead.
“You look good,” she said. “You look…”
She trailed off, seeming to search for the right word.
“Happy,” Frank offered, stepping forward from where he’d been hanging back near the door. He extended his hand with a polite nod. “It’s nice to see you again, Tanner.”
“You too.” And it was. He fit here, in this room full of people I loved.
Lincoln was next, his hug solid and grounding. “Hell of a year,” he said, low enough that only I could hear. “You made it through.”
